Chapter 3
“Your hair is so beautiful,” Artemisia Tzu tells me as she removes the ribbons and bells.
Gryphon’s mother is tall, muscled, her dark hair shorn close to her skull.
Her expression is more thoughtful than kind.
She continues. “It looks like you might have natural curls, though it’s hard to know.
I’ve never seen you wear it down. That lack of vanity will serve you well as a Guardian. ”
Noah’s Valley requires balance in everything. Because my household had more members than Gryphon’s on the morning of my wedding, I am required to move into his, adopting their trade, surname, and family as my own, leaving my former life behind.
My hair ribbons fall to the floor like shed skin. I suppose, in a way, they are.
“I told Jarek we should have announced the change to the Harvest rules before somebody had a chance to commit a terrible crime. It just happened so fast, what with your brother stabbing Henrietta.”
Swish. Another ribbon glides to the floor. Tinkle, a merry bell.
Artemisia (Misia, please, she insisted, though I’d not said a word) and I are on the bottom level of the Tzus’ two-story home.
This floor is one large room, half of it occupied by a kitchen furnished with a plain oak table and six chairs, a wood stove, a sink, and cupboards.
The opposite side contains a river rock fireplace with an unadorned pine mantel, two sturdy rocking chairs, and a sofa upholstered with heavy fabric gone gray with age.
A single shelf holds the books of their trade; I see no other texts, no paintings or tapestries, no touch of warmth.
The four walls are exposed wood, lacking even the lime whitewash most villagers use to brighten their interiors.
I sit in one of the kitchen chairs facing a full-length mirror, an item only the Tailor House should possess. Misia stands behind me. I do not look at my reflection because I know I’ll see my brother’s face staring back. A shudder grips me every few seconds.
Jonas.
“But I’m sure the bride would’ve liked to know about the rule change in advance.
Your brother has ascended Eden’s Gate to Heaven, but a surprise is a surprise, even when it’s good news,” she’s saying.
“No wonder you decided to postpone the wedding. We’ll hold a small ceremony in a few days. Tack it right on with somebody else’s.”
Did I postpone the wedding? It felt more like I died.
As the basket holding Jonas glided up and away, my momentary fury gave way to a despair so profound, I was sure my heart would stop.
My tongue didn’t work, my legs wouldn’t move.
Jarek ordered my mother’s immediate funeral, and her body was bundled into cloth and sent up the moment the empty basket that’d held Jonas returned.
Sojourner, the Head Priest, rushed over to embrace me after she was finished leading the brief funeral ceremony. She whispered nonsense words into my ear, surely meant to soothe. What you inherit is not who you are. What you choose to carry—that’s what makes you.
I didn’t move.
I don’t know how much time passed, just that eventually the sound of whispers tunneled through my shock.
Jarek and Misia materialized, blocking Eden’s Gate from view.
Jarek appeared offended, Misia annoyed. They angled their heads together, studying me like I was something they’d discovered on the bottom of their shoes.
Finally, they seemed to reach some agreement, and Misia strode over and pinched the tender skin beneath my arm.
It was enough to rouse me, enough for her to get me moving and lead me back here.
To Gryphon’s house.
My new home.
How alone had Jonas felt as he glided toward the top of the Wall, staring down at the only home he’d ever known?
How scared was he during his final moments?
According to Valley doctrine, those chosen for Harvest are embraced by the Sun, their spirits released into eternal peace as a reward for their selflessness.
Yet we sometimes hear screams when those Harvested reach the top, screams and hideous crunching noises, but not always.
Not always.
My brother is dead.
My chest constricts. Not my twin. I can’t take that, can’t survive if it’s true, so I find my way back to the only two thoughts with the power to keep me afloat: finding out who really killed my mother, and making Jarek and Gryphon suffer like I have.
I dig for that flash of fury I felt back at the Wall, vowing to dedicate every bit of life I have left to making them experience the raw agony I now feel.
It goes against my training, this thirst for revenge, against who I thought I was, but connecting with it is all that keeps the darkness at bay.
The Tzus will know ruin like they’ve never felt, and it will come from inside their home.
A distant part of me wonders where Gryphon and Jarek went after they condemned Jonas to die. They didn’t walk back with us. I remember only Misia, clutching the tablet in one arm and shepherding me with the other.
The sunforsaken piece of tech lies nearby, resting on the kitchen table.
It’s a flat, matte-black slab the size of an encyclopedia, though much thinner.
Its surface is smooth, seamless, and it looks strangely heavy for its size, clearly built to endure.
No visible buttons, just a faint grid of etchings near one edge.
On impulse, I touch its face the same way I’ve seen Jarek—and the Record Keeper, back when their House was still responsible for the Harvests—do.
It feels cool and slick beneath my fingers, but nothing happens.
“It’s out of juice.” Misia makes a tsking sound. “I’m afraid much of our Before Times technology is on its last legs. The tablet used to sunpower in an hour, or at least that’s what the Record Keeper says. Now it can sometimes take days. Plus, it needs a charge after every couple uses.”
That means nothing to me, except that in addition to operating the basket, the tablet decides who will be Harvested.
It draws on census data from the Record Keeper to calculate births, deaths, food stores, family size, and projected crops, then runs a formula to pick the lucky citizen.
An unexpected thought drops into my head.
If the tablet dies completely, will there be no more scheduled Harvests?
Could I destroy it, saving other families this suffering?
My brain immediately blanches at the heretical thought. Grief is tainting my mind. Harvests are our greatest honor. Without them, our population would have grown too large and many of those inside our Wall-limited paradise would have starved or had to resort to violence to stay alive.
Misia picks up the tablet and walks it over to a cupboard, as if to protect it from me. I realize she’s not really that tall. It’s the way she carries herself that makes her seem bigger, stronger.
She slides it into the kitchen cabinet and closes it with a click.
“But you’ll learn all the ins and outs of the tablet now that you’re of the Guardian House,” she continues.
She says it like her family has always been the device’s minder.
“Of course your training can’t begin until you’re wed.
But inside our home, you and Gryphon will share his room. Just like husband and wife.”
I haven’t spoken since I begged for Jonas to be spared.
This, finally, jolts my tongue. I will not sleep next to the person who led my brother to the Harvest basket.
“Do you think…” My throat is raw from screaming, my voice jagged.
“Do you think I could have my own room until the wedding is official?”
Misia smiles, mistaking my concern for modesty. “Well, we only have the two bedrooms upstairs, and we can’t send you back to your old cottage! How would that look? Besides, it’s just a hiccup that you and Gryphon aren’t yet married. We can look the other way, can’t we? For the greater good?”
When I blink, my lids scrape my eyes. My brother’s death is a hiccup?
“I won’t sleep next to Gryphon.” Now that I’ve spoken out once today, it’s coming easier. What more do I have to lose? “Not now. Not ever.”
Misia chuckles. It’s a warm sound, even though her words erase me. “Don’t be silly. You will share a bed with your betrothed. We can’t miss an opportunity to create more little soldiers.”
I was of the Apothecary House. I know how reproduction works, and I have no intention of becoming a broodmare. The Guardians and Farmers are the only ones with more than one cottage dedicated to their trade. They’ll manage just fine without my blessed efforts.
“You must be exhausted.” Misia taps the top of my head with the hairbrush, bringing my focus back into the room. “And it’s too late to eat dinner. Why don’t you give me that dress to clean and you can pop off to bed?”
I grab the front of my gown like it’s a life raft. “I didn’t bring any other clothes.”
After a wedding ceremony, couples are supposed to parade through the village, blessing each villager before reaching the old House of the one leaving, so they can pick up their clothes.
Then the pair walks to the new House, swears allegiance, and has the House tattoo inked on their bodies, the only permanent mark allowed inside the Wall.
The Guardian symbol is three half-inch horizontal lines below the left eye.
Gryphon and I never made that walk. Our faces are bare, my bags still at home.
All I have is the red wedding gown on my back and the thin underclothes beneath it.
“I’ll pick up your things tomorrow,” Misia says brightly, holding out her hand. “No need to worry.”
As if she means for me to undress in front of her. In the kitchen!
“Can you show me to my room, please?” I’m surprised by the steadiness of my voice. If she hopes to break me, she’ll have to try harder. Today, grief coats me in its strange steel.
“I suppose you want to see where you’re sleeping,” Misia says after a moment, her eyes narrowed. “This way.”
She begins up the wooden stairs. I glance at the cabinet once more before following her, surprised my heart still beats, that sorrow hasn’t frozen it over. I’ve lost my mother and brother in one afternoon. My feelings for my mother are complicated. My grief for my twin is pure.
Forgive me for letting them take you.
A single, cold comfort penetrates my grief: my own transgression couldn’t have condemned Jonas. If the Council knew I was sneaking medicine to the elderly, my name would’ve been called alongside his. The village really believes he murdered our mother.
The Tzus’ top floor is laid out like my old home but smaller. Where the Apothecary cottage has four bedrooms, in the Tzu house there are only two, one on the left and one on the right. Misia opens the door to our left.
“This was Gryphon’s room. Now it’s yours. Yours and his.”
I step inside. The bedroom is simple. A mattress wide enough for two, but with only one pillow. The bed is crisply made, which brings me the smallest comfort. Gryphon and I are both neat, at least. An end table. A dresser. A wardrobe. A desk.
I feel tears prickling.
Misia hasn’t budged from the doorway. Her face makes clear that she wants the dress.
Fine. I’ll be happy to never see the crimson monstrosity again.
It reminds me of what I’ve lost. I peel it off and hand it to her, hoping I remove the tiny wooden jackrabbit swiftly enough that she doesn’t notice.
My shift is thin, natural linen. I begin shaking, the toy rabbit hidden in my hand.
I can feel Misia appraising me, but I refuse to move until she’s gone. I won’t give her the satisfaction. Let her stare. A tear races down my cheek and lands, hot, on my foot. Another quickly follows, and then another.
Finally, Misia leaves, closing the door behind her.
I scurry to the bed and dive under the quilt. There’ll be no rest tonight.